


Fixing Someone Broken

by Daerwyn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-22 13:50:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daerwyn/pseuds/Daerwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claire Hudson, Mrs. Hudson's neice, lost everything she owned in an apartment fire. Recently cancelling an engagement, she's moved on and found herself living in the spare bedroom in 221 B Baker Street at her aunt's insistence. Her new roommate Sherlock is just the person she needs to get back on her feet again. And when a new case rolls into the Emergency vehicle she works in, she knows just the person to help solve why only blonde victims in the medical field are being targeted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

221 Baker Street was not as impressive as her aunt had made it sound. Over the phone, it sounded like some grand estate with frequent business with the occupant in the flat above the shop being busy beyond what her aunt called "human capacity." Though, on another thought, Aunt Hudson hadn't been too worried about the occupant, either. If there was anything Aunt Hudson was good with, however, it was weird. So Claire was fully expecting a party of clowns to reside in 221 B Baker Street. Even if it just looked like a sandwich shop on the outside.

She paid the cabbie and pulled her luggage out of the trunk, before stepping under the overhang. God, could London just be sunny for one afternoon? She rang the bell on the front door, wondering if it was a bad time, but Aunt Hudson had said to come over whenever. And whenever truly meant whenever to the elderly woman.

But it was not her aunt that answered the door. It was a tall man in a black, felt trench coat and a scarf tucked around his neck. He eyed her critically, as though she was unwelcome. "May I help you?"

"Sherlock Holmes, I presume," Claire said after she recovered from her surprise. He wasn't a particularly unpleasant looking man, he just seemed to think he had no time to spend around the likes of her. She hastily set down one of her suitcase handles and offered a hand. He took it with a grimace. "Aunt Hudson's told me loads about you. Is she in? I do hope this isn't a bad time-"

"She's making tea. Excuse me-" He made to go around her, until Aunt Hudson's voice called out shrilly. 

"Sherlock Holmes! Don't you for one second think you won't be carrying my neices bags to the spare room, young man!" Claire glanced up to the top of the stairs to see the familiar woman, stern as ever. "Oh, Claire, darling, you look spectacular. All grown up! How old are you now?"

"Twenty-six, Aunt Hudson," Claire said with an eye roll. "Thank you so much for doing this on such short notice. If it weren't for the-"

"Fire," Sherlock Holmes spoke up, interrupting Claire's words of thanks. Claire faced him, confused. "You're taking the spare room in my apartment because your home burned down in a fire - flat, to be specific. You've lost everything except for a few select items, that which fits into these three suitcases. And you favor your left leg, giving off the indication that you were injured in the fire as well... trying to save pictures, something important, a pet perhaps? But it couldn't be a pet, because you didn't bring it with you. So a photograph, perhaps of your late parents, or a fiancee. You still have a tan line, though faint, on your finger where the engagement ring used to rest. Perhaps it was even the ring. But if it was the ring, you'd still be wearing it." He grabbed the handle of a suitcase, lifting it up easily and assessing the weight of it. "Clothing," he guessed. "Particularly jeans and shirts. You don't like dressing up because it reminds you too much of your fiancee. You're a school teacher, as your self-confidence is a tad lower than that of a twenty-six year old. You tend to second guess what you do based on a bad experience as a child - I suspect a presentation in front of your peers gone wrong. So every day at work you relive the experience and compare yourself to the children."

Claire waited a moment, to see if he was finished before she took the suitcase from his hands. "These are my dresses, actually. Evening wear, for dates." She cleared her throat and set it beside her on the ground, glancing towards her aunt. "My parents aren't dead, they're in Italy, on retirement. I got injured while trying to help my neighbor's five year old daughter out of her engulfed apartment." Sherlock raised an eyebrow, as if he had never expected it of her. "And I'm an EMT. It's my job to help people. My fiancee and I broke it off just this winter when I caught him in bed with another woman. He let me keep the ring so I sold it off in order to afford a taxi here - it was a cheap ring, from a penny machine. I do like dressing up, but I don't have time for it with my job. I'm not self-conscious. I just don't like overstepping my boudaries, though I doubt you know what boundaries even are. It's a pleasure to meet you, but I'm sure I can manage my bags by myself."

"Now you've done it, Sherlock," Aunt Hudson sighed. "How's Mark?"

"Mike," Claire corrected, thankful for the topic change. She took off her jacket, exposing the black sheer top that rested just above her jean waist. "He's great, actually. Nice change of pace." She fluffed her hair and patted down the wet spots. Stupid London weather. "Are you always like that? Rude?"

"Oh, he mostly just ignores people," Aunt Hudson insisted. "Come upstairs, I'll get you all situated. You're taking John's old room. Sherlock said he didn't mind, isn't that right, Sherlock?"

"I expect you'll stay out of my way," Sherlock said by way of answer. "I run experiments in the kitchen and expect them not to be disturbed. I also go for days on end without speaking and sometimes play my violin when I'm working a case. Will that be a problem?"

"Do I have to cook?" she asked in return. "You don't look like someone who cooks."

"I usually get takeaway."

"Cooking it is then," Claire sighed. She flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder before reaching down to grab a suitcase, hefting it up against her side. "I sometimes get called out in the middle of the night to go on duty, and I almost always come back exhausted and a cup of tea. I go for a run when I'm stressed and am allergic to peanuts. Will that be a problem?" So she was mocking him, but it seemed to have the desired effect. He gave a small inclination of the head, signifying that he would accept her hindrences, and walked out into the  night, the door shutting behind him as he hailed a taxi. "Honestly, is he always like that?"

"He grows on you, dear," Aunt Hudson promised. She rushed towards the girl, hugging her tightly. "It's so good to see you! Oh, you look absolutely dashing. Come on, let's get you settled."

She reached for a suitcase but Claire waved her off. "No, no, I'll just make another trip, no need. So I'm sharing a flat with him? And who was John?"

"Oh, he was a doctor, always working with Sherlock on cases. And when Sherlock disappeared, oh, nasty few spells John threw." Aunt Hudson led Claire up the stairs and the blonde girl struggled a bit on the thin hall, but managed to make it with two of her three cases. "Eventually John found himself a nice girl, Mary. Settled down, moved out. And once they were expecting their first child, Sherlock shows back up again. Gave me a nasty fright. Doing the dishes, I was." Aunt Hudson gave a rue smile, running her fingertips along to fabric of her dress as if she had wet hands and was trying to dry them. She opened up the apartment door and ushed Claire inside. "But John stayed with Mary, and they sometimes work a case together. But Sherlock's been ever so lonely."

"He doesn't seem like it," Claire said after a moment. The flat was rather nice looking. The wall paper left something more to be desired, but it was nice otherwise. She spotted a couch with Union Jack pillows, closest to her, and two chairs by a fireplace, knicknacks galore on the mantlepiece. "This place is nice. A little dirty, of course, but-"

"Oh, Sherlock hates cleaning. Don't move any of his things," Aunt Hudson told her neice. "He has to have everything where he last placed it. You can clean, of course, but don't throw anything you find lying about away unless Sherlock allows. He's peculiar like that. And dear, the experiments in the kitchen... I'm pretty sure most of them aren't legal, but don't say anything. They keep him occupied when he can't sleep. Insomnia, you see."

Claire wondered if this guy was a drug dealer or something. Illegal experiments? What did he do, sell coke? "What do you mean most of them are illegal?"

"Oh, they involve body parts," Aunt Hudson said as though it was normal. Claire blinked before glancing towards the kitchen. And she was going to cook in there? "Now, down here is your room. The shower is across the hall from you. Sherlock is at the end of the hall. He likes to have a view of the street. Calms him, I suppose. He'll eat just about anything, though you are allergic to nuts, so I'll make sure there are no peanuts in the house at all. Oh! And before I forget, sometimes Detective Lestrade from Scotland Yard comes by, or John. They'll introduce themselves, no doubt. Let me make you dinner. Sherlock will text if he won't be by in time for it."

"You really needn't," Claire insisted, setting her bags down at the door to the bedroom they stopped at. Twisting the handle she saw a rather average looking room. The walls were painted a dark blue, and the wood floor extended throughout. Underneath a simple bedframe, a cream rug rested. Yes, it would be perfect. 

"Nonsense, I insist. Now, you unpack while I start it, alright? And if you want, you can help once you finish-"

"Aunt Hudson-"

"No arguments!" the older woman called as she started to walk away. "And be sure to prove Sherlock wrong. He finds that most intriguing."

"Prove him wrong?" she asked, frowning. "Prove him wrong about what?"

"You, dear! I would like some grandneices out of the two of you-"

"What?" Claire cried. "Aunt Hudson, I think you're mistaken!"

"Yes, well, that's why you have to prove us both wrong, darling!"

Claire sighed heavily and rolled her two suitcases into the bedroom, hearing pots banging in the kitchen a few meters down the hall. Aunt Hudson always tried to set her up with someone and it never worked. Never, in the ten years she had been starting. And a sixteen year old told that they were destined to the twenty year old renting the flat above her Aunt's shop, well... that definitely didn't work.

And Sherlock wasn't her type. All weedy and brooding. And too ... psychopathic looking. She'd be locking her bedroom door at night, that was for sure. She unpacked the things in her two suitcases before heading back down to the foyer to grab her other bag. Huffing, she brought it back up, unpacking that as well. Her life at 221 B Baker Street, in the spare bedroom with a man that had faked his own death - she had received her aunt's distraught call some two years ago - was going to get interesting.


	2. Chapter 2

"You lock your door at night," Sherlock stated. Claire looked up from the lump of potatoes she had been eating, narrowing her eyes at Sherlock. "I can hear the lock click as soon as you enter. You're scared of me, why?"

"I think you're a psychopath that's going to kill me in my sleep," Claire replied honestly. "You certainly look the type." He seemed to smirk slightly, glancing away from her and towards the laptop on the coffee table in front of him. Claire shifted in her seat in the kitchen, doing her best to ignore the plate of eyeballs in the far corner, under a UV lamp. "And I don't like my things to be snooped through."

"So you lock it when you're gone as well," Sherlock stated. "Insecure? Had a boyfriend that likes to look into your things?"

"No. I value privacy. I don't know anything about you, you don't know anything about me. It's a good line, don't you think? Boundaries."

"Your boyfriend called.... Mike was it? Left a dashing message on the machine." Sherlock gestured towards it. "He wants to meet for dinner tonight."

"What? Why didn't you-" Claire jumped up, putting the plate in the sink before she rushed to the machine. All messages had been deleted. "Where's the message?"

"I deleted it. I needed the room in case a case called-"

Claire sighed and stared at the man that hadn't even looked at her since the door conversation. His almond eyes were a shade of blue and bright as he stared back. "Did he say where or when he wanted to meet?"

"It has slipped my mind. An unimportant fact."

 

 


End file.
